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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985947">Hold you in my arms all night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone'>maxbegone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Tumblr Prompts [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hands, Headaches &amp; Migraines, Husbands, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Prompt Fill, Sickfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:34:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even behind closed eyelids Patrick can tell the bedroom is dark, save for the desk lamp David informed him was on in case he needed to get up for anything. “The last thing we need is for you to get disoriented and sprain your ankle or something.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Tumblr Prompts [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806070</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hold you in my arms all night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hullomoon/gifts">hullomoon</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the prompt <i>A palm kiss.</i></p><p>Title from When I Get My Hands on You by The New Basement Tapes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Truth be told, Patrick <em>was </em>looking forward to ringing in the New Year with his family back home, he just wasn’t expecting to be blindsided by an intense and nauseating migraine when he woke up this morning. The second he cracked his eyes open, sunlight streaming in through the window, Patrick was nearly sick next to the bed.</p><p>He luckily stumbled to the bathroom in time, heaving until something cold and damp pressed against the back of his neck as his cheek met porcelain. How graceful. </p><p>“Any more left in you?” David had asked in a hushed tone.</p><p>Patrick would have laughed if he could. He was sure he looked like something the cat dragged in, paler than normal and breathing heavy as he just barely managed to shake his head. He was eventually guided back to bed under strict orders from both his husband and his mother to stay there and rest as long as he needed. All Patrick insisted was that they not cancel the festivities for that evening.</p><p>David disappeared for a few hours to give Patrick some peace and quiet while he helped his parents downstairs, only returning with food, some serious headache meds, and a few cooling strips he picked up from the pharmacy not long after breakfast. He only moved once to use the bathroom before returning to the same divot he’d been laying in all day, dipping in and out of aching sleep.</p><p>It’s where he lays now, several of his aunts and uncles and cousins downstairs celebrating with champagne and rich food as they waited for midnight. Patrick breathes audibly as he adjusts himself on the pillow, laying on his back and facing the ceiling. </p><p>Even behind closed eyelids Patrick can tell the bedroom is dark, save for the desk lamp David informed him was on in case he needed to get up for anything. “The last thing we need is for you to get disoriented and sprain your ankle or something.”</p><p>At the very edges of consciousness, Patrick can hear muffled chatter and music down below. He hopes, really hopes, his mother isn’t trying to shush everyone because he’s holed away up here and helpless. The second thing Patrick hopes for is that if his mother <em>is </em>trying to get everyone to keep their voices down, as much as he appreciates it, his father is trying to counter her attempts. </p><p>Footsteps inch toward the bedroom on creaking floorboards just as he pulls an arm over his eyes protectively.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“I didn’t expect you to be awake,” he hears David whisper as he pushes the door open. “How are you doing up here?”</p><p>The door clicks shut with the most careful precision. “Better,” he breathes weakly. “I didn’t flinch when you walked in this time.”</p><p>David hums. There’s a gentle thud as something is placed on the bedside table before his husband walks around the bed to the opposite side. The mattress dips and soon enough David’s sitting next to him, his fingers carding through his hair. “I brought you something to eat,” he says. “Just some crackers and veggies from that platter your Aunt Gail brought. I stole a few shortbread, too, if you’re up for that.”</p><p>Patrick catches David’s hand and squeezes. “Thanks. Is Mom trying to get everyone to use their inside voices?”</p><p>He can almost feel the way David holds back his laugh when he says, “Yes. And your dad is trying his best to get her to enjoy the party. Although Marcy did tell everyone you’re not feeling great, so they send their well wishes.”</p><p>“How kind.” Patrick rolls onto his side and finally, for the first time in hours, he peels his eyes open again. He’s staring at David’s thigh in the dim light of the room, but at least he’s able to look at something for more than thirty seconds. As careful as he can, Patrick angles his head enough to look up at David, a hand resting high on his leg. “You aren’t going back down?”</p><p>“Mm, nope.” David shakes his head. “That’s enough of the Brewer Army for me today. It’s almost midnight and I would much rather ring in the new year with you.”</p><p>“You didn’t want to get a million cheek kisses from my aunts?” Patrick jokes, straining his voice. “They’re all crazy about you.”</p><p>“They’re crazy about me because I compliment them,” is David’s prim reply. “They can kiss their husbands, and I’ll kiss mine. If you’re up for it.”</p><p>Another long sigh. “I haven’t gotten sick since this morning. We don’t have to worry about that, at least.”</p><p>“Good.” </p><p>David takes Patrick’s hand from where it rests on his thigh and presses warm, soft lips to his palm. Several long, lingering kisses are left there as Patrick’s eyes droop shut again. They fall into a comfortable silence for some time, and Patrick would be convinced David fell asleep if it wasn’t for the way he’s swirling a finger along his temple, soothing the sharp soreness that’s resided there all day.</p><p>
  <em>“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.”</em>
</p><p>Everyone crowded in the living room on the opposite side of the house is surely huddled together right now, possibly holding confetti poppers and champagne flutes. In a perfect world where he hasn’t succumbed to a migraine, Patrick would. be downstairs with them all, holding his husband close and getting ready to kiss him silly at the stroke of midnight.</p><p>Instead, he’s laying in a dim room, the pounding against his skull at a dull ache. But David is still right there beside him.</p><p>The sheets rustle as David shifts a little further down so he can lean over Patrick where he rests his head deep in a mound of pillows. </p><p>
  <em>“Six. Five. Four.”</em>
</p><p>“Three. Two. One,” David finishes the countdown quietly, dipping down to catch Patrick’s lips in a chaste kiss. He savors the moment, a chorus of excited <em>Happy New Year! </em>ringing out from his family below. </p><p>“Any resolutions for the new year?” David asks him with a chuckle. They both find resolutions way too systemic and, in David’s words, “utter bullshit.” But they still joke about it every year, coming up with something unreasonable or outlandish.</p><p>Although this year, Patrick’s is much more tame.</p><p>“To get rid of the thing that’s squeezing my brain right now,” he mutters in response, and David hums thoughtfully.</p><p>“See, that seems doable. Just have to ride it out.”</p><p>Patrick twists his hand in David’s grip, lacing their fingers together and brushing his thumb mindlessly over his knuckles. “What about you?”</p><p>“I think I’ll eat your shortbread if you don’t,” David decides, the smile evident in his voice.</p><p>“Not all of them, though. Right?”</p><p>“Patrick, you know I can’t make any promises when it comes to restricting myself from your mom’s baked goods.”</p><p>“I understand.” He brings his cheek to rest on David’s thigh, rolling enough so the back of his head presses against his stomach, their hands still laced together. Patrick breathes out contentedly and falls asleep just a few short moments after ringing in the New Year, David’s fingers back in his hair, and his headache slowly, <em>slowly, </em>but surely subsiding.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! You can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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